Page 61 of Tripped Up
Fuck.
How am I supposed to respond to this?
I click on his contact on my phone, but my finger slips, and I start a video call instead.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The tone rings loudly in the room’s emptiness. I should hang up. That’s the smart thing to do, right? Pretend it was an accident?
The call connects. The screen goes black as it loads his image.
My heart rate climbs to a thousand.
And I hang up.
Exhaling slowly, I press my hand over my chest, like that will make my heart rate slow down.
The stupid phone rings.
What the hell am I supposed to do?
Swallowing my fears, I accept the call.
Wyatt’s tired face fills the screen. His expression clears when we make eye contact.
“Hey, Els,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. The timbre makes my stomach swoop.
“Hi.”
“You called me?”
“It was an accident.”
He snorts. “Yeah, okay.”
“Thanks. For the food.”
“Any time.” His face softens. “I know you had a performance tonight. Bex says you don’t eat before the show.”
“I get too nervous,” I admit. No matter how many times I do it, getting up on stage and bearing my heart and soul never gets any easier.
“Me, too. Before big games,” he says. “Before dates, too.”
My stomach swoops. “Are—are you dating?”
His lips press into a thin line, and his eyes are sad. “Not currently.”
“Oh.” Why does that disappoint me?
“But I’d like to,” he says.
Fuck, can I get off this roller-coaster ride? It’s like every other thing he says sends me over the moon and then plunges me off a cliff.
“You should do that, then. Anyone in mind?”
A burning sensation ripples through my chest as I hold my breath. I can’t believe I asked him that.
Wyatt shifts on the other end of the line, bringing the phone in closer so all I can see is his face.
